


In the Next Room

by Spocksandshoes



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Active Combat, Anal Sex, Friends to Lovers, Hookups, Idiots in Love, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Angst, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Pining, Serious Injuries, Sort Of, Thirsty Medic, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27676867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spocksandshoes/pseuds/Spocksandshoes
Summary: Most people realize they're attracted to their friends in their own time.Medic finds out when Heavy won't stop fucking people against the thin wall between their rooms.
Relationships: Heavy/Medic (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 122





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to a lot of Neon Trees while I wrote this, can you tell.

Dr. Kaspar Ludwig was three seconds away from losing his mind. 

While everyone hired by RED had actual homes to go to, when the fighting was at its thickest there was rooms provided for each of them in the base. But they were mercenaries, not VIP guests, so each room had a bathroom and a bedroom, and...that was it. 

Their personal effects, their clothes, everything they held near and dear were in these rooms, and Dr. Ludwigs was far too empty for his own liking. His clothes, some cologne he liked, medical journals, his bird cages, and a record player. It wasn’t a lot, but for now, it was home. This sparse room was near the end of the hall on the first floor, sandwiched between Heavy and Engie’s rooms. Which should have been a good thing -sharing walls with the two men on the team he was arguably closest to. The latter spent most of his time in his lab and was quite apart from the odd blast of country music.  
Heavy, however…

When the wall rattled at 1am, the Medic blinked awake and glared blearily in the direction of the noise.

A soft groan made him listen, as it always did. There was a quiet laugh, the creak of a mattress. Kaspar sat up in bed, waiting for it again.

And sure enough another groan came, deep and pleased. Kaspar could just see the expression on Mikhaels' face, the way his nostrils would flare as he breathed slow. His brows would furrow, eyes would close for a moment as a low, quiet sound would rumble in his chest. Someone was kneeling on the bed, Kaspar imagined, this blank-faced lover with their head between Mikhaels' spread legs. They were going slow, maybe teasing him, or maybe they were going all-out, sloppily cramming Mikhaels' cock into their mouths as they jerked him off, fists slick with spit and pre. Mikhael was a quiet man, maybe he was more strung-out than Kaspar could hear. Maybe he was panting quietly, kept on edge for hours. Maybe he was just quiet in bed. Kaspar leaned towards the wall, enraptured.  
Maybe it was a bad habit, but the RED Medic wanted more.  
He needed to hear more, to see what was going on.

Ignoring the time and the goosebumps crawling up his arms from sitting shirtless in the chilly room, he sat and listened.

The next morning, 7am on the dot and Mikhael was at the breakfast room with the rest of the mercs, eating a plate of scrambled eggs and toast like nothing was out of the ordinary. Kaspar was late, pulling his suspenders up around his shoulders as he joined them and squeezed into the last available chair between Demo and Spy.  
Mikhael nodded at him with a pleasant ‘Morning, Doctor.’ and he managed to remind his face to smile. Yes. Good. Act normal. Normality.

“3 minutes late.” Soldier announced like they were in the army, but Kaspar didn’t bother to answer. He didn’t have to answer to anyone who wasn’t funding his research.  
“Morning, all.” He greeted instead, quickly making himself presentable and reaching for the half-empty carton of Orange juice that was in his reach.

He hadn’t slept after last night, kept awake by the obsessive thought that he might hear it again, and he knew it was obvious by the bags under his eyes, the gaunt look in his long face. He ran a hand through his curl of dark hair that insisted on lying out of place on his brow, trying to feel more dignified than he currently did.

“Trouble sleeping?” Engie asked, spooning grits into himself, and Medic shrugged, noting that Mikhael had gone very still at the other side of the table.  
“You could say zhat.”

“Think you can keep up today, old man?” The scout hooted from beside Mikhael, and Kaspar pushed his glasses up his nose.  
“Vith you? I hope not, you have a remarkable talent for running into bullets.”

It was a hard fight.  
Sasha’s song broke out over the mess of a battlefield, and the blast of heat from Soldier leaping over him had the Medic scrambling forwards, swearing as the American soared skyward. Someone screamed, and in a practiced motion, he swung his medigun in the direction of the calls. Bullets peppered his footsteps as he ran, finding a bleeding Demoman hiding behind a rocky outcrop and a Spy struggling to keep his guts in. Like he did every day, he harnessed the power of sheer fucking brilliance and knit them right back together, good as new, arms straining around the heavy apparatus as the red beam knit flesh and bone back together til Demo’s breath was no longer rasping in his throat.  
“Thanks, doc!”  
“Yes yes, go!” He waved them off, turning on his heel and squinting through the chaos to see if he could see Mikhael.

“Doctor!” The big Russian shouted from a wooden outpost just up ahead. He hefted his weapon with a booming laugh, spraying the BLU team with custom bullets.  
Medic, in the midst of everything, couldn't help notice the bulge of his biceps as he hauled the weapon into the air, the tightness in his broad shoulders, the sleeves of his tshirt plastered to his arms with sweat under the hot New Mexico sun.

A bullet passed cleanly through Medics’ skull from temple to temple, and the next thing he saw was the base walls as he respawned. 

Focus, _Scheiße_

Gritting his teeth, Medic turned on his heel and spun back out into the fray.

They were exhausted that night, dragging themselves back to base in tatters. Medic had a few solid hours of patching the team up and listening to them bitching. Mikhael was the first one healed, and the first one to leave the base on the way into town. One of the trucks roared to life outside, and he was gone.  
“It’s the weekend.” Scout shrugged. “If he’s smart he’s out trawling for some pu- OW.” More irritated than he had any right to be, Medic depressed the plunger of the syringe he had just jammed into Scouts’ arm with a little more venom than usual. “Do you ever stop talking?!”

“Fuckin--- OW, man! You HAVE a medigun.”

“I know. But zhis is more fun.”

Scout left, grumbling, and Medic cleaned up his lab and went right to bed. He was too tired to do much else than feed the birds and fall asleep.

He closed his eyes as the clock read 9:34pm.  
He opened them at 11:59.  
The wall thumped. The unmistakable sound of someone being slammed into the plasterboard made the books on his shelves rattled.  
He could hear voices, the thump of a head falling back against the wall. Heavy had a nipple between his teeth, Kaspar imagined, big hands framing wide hips as his lover was pressed against the wall, caught between the wall and his bulk.  
Helpless to his whims…

It was getting warm. Kaspar kicked off his sheets and listened to the telltale sound of bodies moving, pushing together, struggling to get their clothes off without spending a single second away from each other. Someone was turned, shoved back against the wall. His copy of the latest medical journal juddered forward on the shelf. He found himself moving, pressing a hand to the wall where he thought the person on the other side was, ear close to the plasterboard, obsessed with just hearing a little more, just another sound. His mouth was dry, heart beating in a way that felt odd and erratic in his chest.

Just one more sound.

Transfixed, Kaspar imagined that he could feel the heat from the other side of the wall, feel it curve as the two on the other side leaned into it more. The voices were low, muffled, but he could hear the quiet sounds of someone moaning through their fingers, the hitches and uneven tamber in their voice.

The first thrust was quick, with a curse and a laugh in the same voice from the other side. Kaspar started back, heart thumping as hard as if he had been caught. The pace was set up quickly as Kaspar stepped back to sit on his bed, staring blankly at the wall. He wondered who was on top. Mikhael, probably- it didn’t sound like his voice doing most of the talking. He wondered if this was the same lover as before. He wondered if they had their chest to the wall, while he fucked them from behind, large hands drawing their body back unto his cock.  
Or maybe they had their legs around his wide waist, thighs shaking from the exertion as he thrust into them that way.  
They could kiss like that, but Kaspar disliked the thought of that kind of intimacy between Heavy and the person he didn’t know.

With something close to morbid fascination, he realized he was hard.

Saturday was a day off and he was up around 11, but bleary-eyed, padding past everyone to get some coffee. Sleep had not been easy. Heavy was once again on time, looking absolutely normal, like a man who didn’t get laid twice the night before before quietly making his guest some coffee and before fucking them a third time before 10 am.  
He greeted Kaspar with a nod, budging up to make room for him on the bench, but he was ignored as the Medic sat next to the Spy, preferring the reek of cigarettes to looking the Heavy in the eyes.

He spent the day in his lab, dissecting various limbs from the battle the day before. They respawned, of course, but it was interesting to run the gamut of tests on the flesh that was no longer the BLU Sniper any more. The DNA was the same, but the Sniper had two arms after the respawn, so what did that make this limb? An original turned clone? A spare? Were any of them the same people as the ones that started the war if their bodies were several versions of regrown specimens? They were interesting Saturday-afternoon questions, and he happily slid a slide under his trusty microscope to settle into something he was comfortable with- looking at cells and making notes as a decapitated limb sat in his fridge.

The third time he nodded off and nearly took his eye out with the eyepiece, he swore and shoved the microscope away. Running a hand through his hair, he grabbed his cold coffee cup and made his way to the kitchens. 

Standing in front of the coffee percolator, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander.  
He wondered how Heavys’ hands would feel on his hips, picturing the scene from the night before, only instead of the mysterious blank-faced lover he had imagined, it was him pressed between the Russians’ bulk at the wall, back arched back so his head could rest back on Mikhaels’ shoulder. The big body tucked close behind him, a clean-shaved face pressed a kiss to his shoulder -

“You trying to eye-fuck that coffeepot or what?” Scout was suddenly beside him, causing him to nearly startle out of his skin.  
“Fucking arschgesicht-”  
When Medics’ heart started beating again, he forced a laugh and waved Scout to take some of the coffee before him. The rest he intended on pouring into a few cups and bringing them all with him down to the lab again. Sweatily, he had just filled one cup to the appropriate amount - which was to the top, sugar and milk was for people with bad taste- when another cup was sat down beside him. “Do you mind?” Heavy asked, and Medic obligingly poured the rest into the new cup. Of all of them, he couldn’t say no to Mikhael.  
“Not at all.”

Heavy nodded his thanks, taking his cup up to his mouth and taking a gulp of the hot coffee. Medic found himself watching how the addams apple bobbed in the giants’ throat as he swallowed. 

“I meant to apologize for yesterday.”  
Kaspar glanced at him in a way he hoped was calm and detached. Internally, he could feel himself scanning for an escape route. Heavy knew. He knew that -

“I should have shielded from Sniper. Did not react quick enough.” Mikhael said, and Medic dragged his mind back into practicality with a cheerful expression.

“Ach, it’s nothing. I vas too slow. You’re still free for chess tomorrow?”  
It was a habit of theirs. They’d play chess, or at least do some hobby in the same room. Heavy was allowed in his lab because he knew how not to be an idiot with things, and Medic was one of the only people who didn’t talk whilst Heavy was reading.  
Mikhael nodded. “Usual time?”

“Zhe usual time, my friend.”

He escaped back to the lab, where Engie was happy to distract him with some diagnostics for the dispensers.

He slept well that night, to dreams of a mouth against his and a large, powerful body around his cock, warm and desperate in the way it rocked back into his thrusts.  
Kaspar started awake with something between a sigh and a groan, and shuffled grumpily to the shower. He dressed and scrubbed his bedsheets as if being productive could outrun the guilt.  
Dreams, now. The Russian is interrupting his dreams now and making him wake up to dried come and ruined sheets.  
Ridiculous.

But the next day passed without incident. The chess game was good, he spent some time with his birds, and himself and the Engineer swapped stories over a beer in the evening.

His sleep was quiet that night.

It was the next Wednesday when the situation happened.  
He was on the field, and everything was incredibly fucked. His arm ached from shoulder to wrist, the metal blade of his bonesaw dripping red, flinging drops of blood that spattered across his face and arms as swung his arm again and again.  
The enemy had separated them, pinned him and the scout away from the others, clouds of dust from the explosions kicked up and obscuring their way back.  
"We gotta do doc!" Scout had shouted, back pressed against the red rock as he reloaded. Shells littered at his feet. The chunk of rock next to his head exploded outwards, spinning away in pieces and joining the shells.  
His syringes had ran out ten minutes ago, all he could do was huddle behind the rock and blindside anyone dumb enough to come around it to find them.

“DOC!” More frantic this time.  
He nodded, and the Scout had grinned, wild and fearful.  
Then they had got to work,pushing off their hiding place and rounding the rock. The bone saw tearing a hole in the enemy soldier, blood and dust stinging their eyes as they ran. His heart was pounding, sure he was mad from the thrill of it all. Sliced throat after punctured lung, he dove into the enemy, feeling more alive that he’d felt in years.

The others were falling back, the RED team was closing the gap in the middle to meet back up. He could see the others’ red uniforms through the dust, they just needed to get a bit closer and he could start healing the stragglers…

One step. Then another. 

And then there was a click. The world seemed to pause, and then it lit up bright white in a dizzying blast, and stayed white, a scream lingering in his ears that sounded like his own voice. There was a total disconnect for a moment, and the next thing he knew reality rushed back in all at once. Heavy was over him, moving like he was walking backwards, his face bloodied and twisted into a look of pure stress. His big hands were under the doctors armpits, dragging him around a corner, Kaspar realised hazily, lifting his heavy head and glancing down at his body. His left leg was missing from the mid-thigh down, leaving a thick red smear behind him. His right was shredded, dragging at an awkward angle. Even as he lay there, shock setting in, his body was slowly trying to regenerate the blood he was losing, skin tightening as it tried to stretch across the gaping wounds.  
A blue uniform rounded the corner, and the hands on him slipped away.  
Sasha roared and Mikhael roared with it, and the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake by those big hands. 

Nice hands.  
_Focus._

“Kaspar. Stay awake. You are healing.”  
Awake again, he glanced at his legs, feeling oddly interested. Everything was bloody, it was hard to know what was healing and what was not, but he could feel it, the sluggishness in his bones telling him that he wasnt regenerating fast enough.  
The red pooled under him, spreading despite his legs best attempts to heal. The next thought might have frightened other men, but for Kaspar, there was nothing but calm.

“Nein, my friend.”  
A scattershot of gunfire outside, and someone shouted in pain. Medic reached for Heavy’s gun, tugging the barrel towards himself with a grunt.  
The look in Heavys eyes hardened. “No.”

“Listen to zhem! Zhey are dying out there. I can bleed out slow or you can help me respawn.” He swung the barrel right in front of his face and glanced up at Mikhael. “Do it.” Heavy paused for a second, muscles in his jaw working. For a second there was an emotion Kaspar couldn’t quite place, then Mikhael took a deep breath and Sasha roared once more.

Kaspar blinked, and he was looking at the walls in base. Fully intact and battle-fit, he took a moment to stretch, rubbing the fading sting of shrapnel from his face, and headed back out to the fight.

That night was the worst.  
It started early, the sounds from next door. Kaspar had just come back from dinner. His bones ached from the long day, and the thought of bed was nearly seductive at that point. Oh, to nap and perhaps tinker with his Medigun later. He yawned, padding towards his bed, and promptly stopped in the middle of his floor, turning and looking at the wall with a quiet sort of despair.  
Not now, he was tired, it wasn’t-

A deep sound, the unmistakable sound of someone being shoved back on a surface, making mattress springs creak. Mikhael spoke, drawing Kaspar closer to the wall, and he could just tell from the tone that it was filthy. Low and filthy and delicious, repeated til his lover replied urgently.

And Kaspar… oh, he was weak. 

He didn’t even bother undressing, still in his medics garb. Instead he just tore off his gloves, fumbling with his jodhpurs and taking himself into his own fist. It wasn’t anything like he could imagine Mikhael touching him, his hands were rough with callouses and too precise, big but not big enough, not like Mikhaels. It was perverse, listening to his colleague- his friend- have sex and getting off to it, but if he closed his eyes he could just listen and pretend it was him in there. Maybe Mikhael would push him to the bed and ride him, thick thighs straddling his hips.  
Maybe he’d fuck Kaspar instead, pulling a leg up to hook around his hips as he fucked him. Maybe their mouths brush, sometimes in a kiss, maybe here in Kaspars head, Mikhael talks to him the way he speaks to the lover he has on the other side of the wall. Maybe-

Head spinning, he slumped back against his bed, fingers loose around his softening cock. He sucked in deep breaths of air, feeling his heart batter against his ribs. His back hurt, he was too old to be doing this, jerking off to the sounds of muffled lovemaking, like some sort of pervert.

He struggled to his feet, going to wash himself off and falling into bed, trying to sleep so he didn’t have to think.

The next morning, they were back out on the field, but for once, Heavy was not in top form. His face was set hard as he spun Sasha’s turrets, not reveling in the carnage like he usually did. He kept his body in front of the Medic, spinning sharply to check all exits. Nothing changed til they found themselves sandwiching into a small space between two buildings in the middle of the battlefield, seeking a reprieve from the constant barrage of sentry turrets. Chest to chest, breathing hard, Kasper felt Mikhaels eyes settle on him. They stared at each other, slowly starting to grin, and Kaspar could feel Mikhael relax. 

This was what they were made for, blood and adrenaline and chaos. It was perfect.

He could think of nobody better to share the chaos with. Maybe, a small voice said in the back of his head, maybe he could think of nobody better, period. 

Mikhaels shoulders jumped as he laughed his booming laugh. There was a fleck of blood on his left cheek, and Kaspar longed to brush it away, leave it smeared across Mikhaels' skin like warpaint.

“MEDIC.” Someone screamed, and the world crept back in. Kaspar turned with a sigh, heading back out into the fray, only to have a hand clasp his arm.  
He slowly turned to look at Heavy, who seemed as surprised as he did.  
“Don’t get shot.” The man roared over the sound of gunfire, his fingers slowly letting go.

“Never, my friend!”  
Medic span with a wild grin and sprinted out into the warzone, white coat flapping behind him. The weight of the phantom hand on his arm stayed there, warm and heavy as he ran.

He could still feel Mikhaels' touch on his arm than night as he came, shaking and ashamed, to the noises from next door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Medics gets less sane and more gay.

Two weeks and a fair amount of lonely jacking off later, Kaspar was willing to admit it: He had a problem.

He had it quite bad for Mikhael. The man was not only taking up his nights, but his days too.  
The sounds from the room next door were driving him mad, stuck in a purgatory where he couldn't see, couldn't touch, could only hear and imagine what was happening.  
Trying to sleep didn't work, jamming a pillow over his ears didn't work. His nights were tormented by the sounds of Mikhael and his guests. Strangers, Kaspar hoped. If it turned out that it was someone they knew, he might have an actual breakdown. God knows he was already mentally unstable enough without the image of Sniper and Heavy going at it.  
Sleeping in the lab only caused questions and a sore back. Sleeping in his room was less sleeping and more being overcome with longing every time he heard Mikhael move. The less he slept, the worse he did on the field. The worse he did on the field, the louder the sex next door was.

It was a vicious cycle and he was losing his mind.

"Ah, Miss Pauling!" He caught up with the young woman as she carried a red briefcase over to its safe and ran some tests on the security measures.  
"Hey Medic." She was friendly, but didn’t look up from what she was doing, so he resolved to be quick. "I have a request to make concerning base security. "  
"Base sec- what's wrong with the base?" She looked up then, a tendril of hair flopping over her eyes as she moved.  
"Ah, nothing, nothing at all. But I... do... need you to initiate a lockdown for the weekend."

Her eyes narrowed. "Medic…"  
He held up a hand, eager to explain himself. "Its my teammates. Zhey insist on bringing people home and making so much noise that I cannot sleep. I have been on the brink of sleep deprivation for days now, and it vould be a pity if I vas not fit to heal my team on Monday." He stared at her pointedly, and she stared back, before sighing.  
"Medic-"

"I am asking for three nights of uninterrupted sleep. Zhat’s hardly too much to ask. If it is, I can always recreate a real emergency- I think our little wheat mutant is still in its jar in the lab somewhere. Have a good day, Fraulein Pauling!"  
He cheerfully left her to her work, heading to kit out and join the others.  
It was a tough day on the field, and he took not one but two knives to the back on two separate occasions, thanks to the BLU spy. But by evening time, viola, wouldn't you know it, the RED base was in a temporary lockdown for 'classified reasons.'  
There was some grumbling, but nobody asked questions. They got paid too much to ask questions. 

It was perfect. After dinner he retired to make some note while the others watched tv or played cards. He sat in the kitchen, marking down some notes on the possibility of adding extra joints to Scouts legs. Better for jumping? Worth a thought.  
The kitchen wasn’t the perfect place, but here he had the perfect view of Mikhael, who sat out in the open common area with the others. He sat straight-backed and quiet, and only someone who knew the man would know he was tense. His big fingers drummed on his knees, and he constantly glanced around, subtle flickers of his eyes that let Kaspar know that the man was anywhere but in the present. That went on for an hour before the big man abruptly stood up, picking up the book he hadn't even touched in all the time he had sat there.  
“Going to bed.” He said, turning and walking away to various ‘gnights’ from the assembled mercs.

Medic spent maybe an hour or so more on his notes, eventually pouring himself a glass of whiskey and heading to his room to listen to some music and relax.  
Mikhaels room was blissfully quiet.

"Off zhe record player Archimedes, you know zhe rules, terrible bird." Medic had just lovingly shooed his dove back to the perch and was setting set his LP of Neil Diamond to play, when there was a noise from the next room. There was a moment of dread as he glanced at the wall, but the footsteps were clearly footsteps, turning and walking around on themselves in repetitive patterns. _Stomp stomp stomp pause. Stomp stomp stomp pause._  
Pacing. Mikhael was pacing.

Kaspar shrugged, sat and took a sip of his Whiskey. Tart. Oaky. He closed his eyes and let Neil Diamond tell him about how good times never seemed so good.  
10 minutes later, the movement was still going. He could make out pauses, erratic creaks on the floorboards like Mikhael was stopping to do something, jab at the air with a one-two motion or roll his shoulders. Kaspar decided this was preferable to hearing Mikhael fuck someone, and went back to his music.  
The next thing he knew he was snorting awake, his chin drooping to rest against his chest. The glass had tipped in his fingers, dangerously close to spilling its contents over the brown carpet . The record had reached an end and scratched unpleasantly until he swore, struggling stiffly to his feet and lifting the needle on the record player. The room beside his was silent.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he slipped outside, glancing at the room next door. The room light was off. The door sat open just a little. Unusual for such a private man, unless he wasn't far..  
The glow of a cigarette in the corners of his vision caught his attention, there on the fire escape at the end of the hall.

Mikhael was leaning on the metal railing, drawing hard on a cigarette that looked tiny in his massive fingers. It wasn't one of Spies’ fancy cigarillos, this smelled cheap, a proper working-class cigarette that stank of ash.  
"Can't sleep?" Kaspar pulled the rickety window up fulling, leaving enough space so he could clamber out, one long leg after the other, steadying himself on the rusting metal platform. He moved to lean against the railing, not bothering to leave a considerate space between them. Mikhael was facing out into the night, so he did the opposite, leaning on the elbows and facing the building. To speak, they had to turn towards each other, creating a small, intimate space between them.

Mikhael grunted. The hand holding the cigarette was shaking "No."  
Medic held out a hand for the smoke, and it was obligingly passed along.  
"Didn't know Doctor smoked." Mikhael tipped his head back, blowing a weary lungful of smoke out into the night sky.

"Since vhen have I been interested in health?" He asked cheerfully, gaining a quiet grunt , which he'd take as laughter. He took a drag, exhaling a neater plume of smoke into the atmosphere before handing it back. Their fingertips brushed as Mikhael took the smoke back. Kaspar desperately wanted it to happen again.  
"Vhats bothering you, my friend. "

“Can’t sleep. Feel restless.”

“Hmm. How long have you been feeling like zhis?”

Mikhal didn’t quite meet his eyes. “A while.”

While it wasn’t the most normal question to ask next, his curiosity betrayed him. “Vhat have you been doing to relieve zhe stress before?”  
Mikhael cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “Going to town. Meeting people.” The Russian said, and Kaspar could FEEL the lightbulb click on over his head.  
“And zhe base is locked down so you can’t-” He nearly laughed. “Good gott, you’ve been picking people up in Teufort. I vas convinced you had Soldier in zhere.”  
Mikhael stared at him, brows pinched together. “You knew? That I was-?”  
Kaspar stared back. 

They stared at each other.

“Vell, yes, the valls are not that thick, and I-” He cleared his throat, stuck for words suddenly. He leaned over, took the smoke from Mikhaels hands and inhaled as hard as he could, needing the reprieve. "You have not been quiet."  
Mikhael muttered something in russian, and there was a silence as he stared out into the night and Kaspar did the best to very quickly smoke himself to death.  
"Am Heavy. Supposed to protect teammates. I have been failing. Seeing Doctor die, it makes the restlessness come. ‘Working it out’ is good way to get rid of it."  
Kaspar paused, glancing up at Mikhael. Mikhael slowly looked at him, and reached over. Keeping eye-contact, he slowly leaned over, plucking the cigarette from Kaspars finger and took a pull. Feeling like his blood was fizzing in his veins, Kaspar tipped his head back and stared at the sky.

His brain might be actually curdling.  
“Zhats a lot to handle on your own, my friend." 

“Yes.”

“Zhis is the precise thing you go see a doctor about. Vhy did you not come to see me?”

Mikhael tilted his head slightly, smoke curling from his parted lips as he considered his answer. He glanced back at Kaspar to answer the same time as the medic leaned in for the cigarette, and they found themselves in that small intimate space between their bodies, their faces close together. Their eyes met and held. And just like that, just when Kaspar was thinking of moving closer, Mikhael moved first. Mikhael kissed him, pressing their lips together and Kaspar forgot how to breathe for a moment, which was okay. The air tasted of smoke and heat, the kind that billowed from the belly of a steam train.  
And Mikhael had kissed him.  
When they pulled apart, Mikhael was studying his expression.

“Is that good answer?”

Kaspar gave up try to get his brain to restart and dropped the cigarette, grinding it under his heel with breathless sort of glee.  
“Your room. Now.”

He didn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe to be the body on the other side of the wall, the one pushed unto the bed, the one who got such beautiful noises pulled out of him. But once in Mikhaels room, he seemed hesitant, closing the space between them and settling his hands on Kaspars hips.  
“I don’t… that is…I..”  
Thoughtful. Always so thoughtful. Kaspar didn’t want it. He wanted to be wanted, like Heavy wanted the others. Maybe more than he had wanted them. This soft touching and hesitance was starting to feel like rejection.  
“Doctors are not usually allowed to sleep with patients. Will you get in trouble?" Heavy asked, his expression guarded, careful not to say too much in case Kaspar turned him away. Kaspar grinned, looked him right in the eyes, took a fistful of Mikhaels' sweater in his hand, and yanked the Heavy down to kiss him.

There was no more hesitation. As soon as their mouths connected, Heavys hands were on him, his palms leaving a warm path on Kaspars' skin wherever he touched. Greedy, they pulled the braces from his shoulders, slid around his hips and tugged him even closer, til their bodies were crushed together. Kaspar kept kissing him, half-insane from the idea that he was imagining all of this, alone in his room. They were pressing together, chest to chest, his hands on Heavy, Heavy’s hands on him. Heavys’ breath in his mouth. A giddiness took him over that might have been the madness, the longing that had finally shattered his already questionable grasp on sanity.  
He pushed backwards, prodding Mikhael towards his bed, and the man obliged, walking back the two steps to the bed and sitting. Hands grasped the hanging braces that hung around Medics thighs and tugged hard, pulling Kaspar forward and into Mikhael.

They ended up with Kaspar standing between Mikhals spread thighs, craning down to kiss him as thick hands kept a hold on his braces, keeping his hips anchored as close to Mikhaels chest as possible. Mikhael kissed him like he loved him, every brush of their mouths was considerate, never demanding or greedy like his hands had been. Mercenary life had its fair amount of casual sex, but the kissing was unravelling Kaspar in a way he hadn’t expected, making his lungs feel heavy in his chest, tight with excitement as Mikhael kissed him.  
How he’d ached for this, listening from the other side of the wall. How he never could have known how good it was to be here, Mikhaels teeth on his lower lip, his hands cupping the Russians’ face. How every little sound made him feel so alive, how every squeeze of Mikhaels hands and low rumbling sigh that he gave was exquisite.

He had to have made Mikhael up inside his head. Someone to let their kisses linger just an extra moment than necessary, someone to run their hands over his body like he was beautiful. His hairy chest and arms, and wide shoulders and soft belly, Mikhael looked at him like he was perfect. Maybe that shouldn’t have been hot, but it was.

Mind made up, he sank to his knees in a manner that was a lot easier in his 20s and 30s, kneeling on the hard floor. His hands pushed those big thighs wider apart, too intent on his task to do it slowly. Mikheal was hard, cock straining against his dark trousers, and Kaspar wanted to go feral, rub his face against his clothed cock and breathe him in and mouth at him through the fabric, drunk on just being here and getting to touch Mikhael. Thankfully, he did none of that, and opted for fumbling the zip and drawing Mikhaels cock from his pants. He had seen it before- he was the team doctor, he’d seen them all naked- but oh, not like this.  
Like this, when his cock was fully hard, flushed and thick and leaking pre already.. this ...was entirely different. Mouth-watering. 

Medic made a mental note- he had a new objective. 

He was going to scientifically study how long it took to make Mikhael come down his throat.

Maybe Mikhael saw the manic glint in his eyes, because he’d been about to say something, mouth opening when the sound died on his lips. Kaspar drew Mikhaels cock into his mouth, too eager to be precise. The taste of him was electrifying, gathering on his tongue and causing him to give a muffled groan that was mirrored from above as he suckled so lovingly on the head of Mikhaels cock.  
His jaw was uncomfortable in such a small amount of time, feeling like it was prised open with a fucking car jack, and keeping his teeth to himself seemed all but impossible, but that was highly inconsequential compared to how Mikhael was reacting. He was leaning back on his arms, staring down at Kaspar with such a quiet, intense look of want in his eyes that the medic could feel his own neglected cock ache.  
When Kaspar met his eyes, he could have sworn that Mikhael mouthed a curse. Saliva and pre slid down the untouched shaft of Mikhaels cock, and after a few moments of trying to defy physics, Kaspar got his hands around it, admitting defeat that he wasn’t going to get this whole thing in his mouth at once. But still, he wanted Heavy to come in his mouth. He wanted it so much that it was the only thing of importance, but he got his kicks regardless, worshipping the perfect cock he held, sloppy and intense til Mikhael groaned and came, spilling across his tongue and down his throat.  
Slightly out of practice, Kaspar coughed, throat working as he struggled to swallow the full load. He swallowed, stole a breath, and caught more on his tongue and across his lips. Mikhaels taste coated his tongue and teeth and throat. It was all he could taste  
His breath burned in his lungs. It was perfect.

He had sat back, taking a breather when Mikhael beckoned him up. He had such a lazy look in his eyes as he grinned, and Kaspar might have been a little infatuated.  
“Now.” The Russian finally said in English, staring him in the eyes with an unreadable expression that thrilled him entirely too much. “Your turn.”  
Oh, fuck yeah.

Kaspar had to admit, 15 minutes later when he was pressed against the plasterboard, gasping around three thick fingers that were slowly fucking him open, there was a feral glee in having won, in being the body on the other side of the wall. 

Somewhere around dawn, Kaspar lay on his back, staring lazily at the ceiling. Heavys’ head rested against his chest and a giant arm slung over him, keeping him warm. They hadn’t slept a lot. Most of everywhere hurt in a very good way, and he was fairly sure that Mikhael felt exactly the same. He hoped he did.  
He wondered if Mikhael would make him coffee too, and fuck him again in the morning. That sounded good. His fingers traced Mikhaels spine, marveling at the warmth that the man radiated. He had touched him so many times before, in battle and in physical examinations or in surgery. He had held Mikhaels beating heart in his hands, had broken his bones and put him back together good as new. But this felt different. A good difference.

Mikhael grumbled in his sleep, stretching and opening an eye to see Kaspar looking at him. He didn’t smile, but his eyes had a warm quality to them.  
“Good Morning.” Kaspar said to him, and a hand squeezed his waist. “Feeling better?”

“Yes.” Mikhael was looking at him still, and it made something in his chest ache in a way it almost never did. It was hard to imagine why he had never seen it before. “Hm. Zhere is a joke about repeat prescriptions somewhere, but I can’t think of it.”

He felt Mikhael laugh, heard a quiet snort directed into the pillows.  
”Will always hate when you die. But will be okay I think.” Mikhael said after a thoughtful pause. “If we can do this.”  
Kaspar was about to make a comment about how despite being a doctor he didn’t have a magical healing dick, but the look in Mikhaels eyes made him pause.  
Oh. He meant this. The lying down and the cuddling and the.. being together.

It complicated things. He liked it. He loved it.

“Hmm. Only if you make me coffee and join me in bed again.” He said, and something like a smile crossed Mikhaels’ features.

“Coffee, Doctor?”

“Vhy I’d like that very much, Mikhael.”

FIN


End file.
